


Ballet d'action

by VICTORKISSEDYURRI



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, F/F, Female Homosexuality, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, Katsuki Yuuri Needs To Be Protected, Lesbian Character, Love, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Trans Male Character, Victor's Backstory, Yuuri Is Trans, rly gay, sorry i dont make the rules, wow boi could this story be more about what you think love is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-02 10:22:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8663899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VICTORKISSEDYURRI/pseuds/VICTORKISSEDYURRI
Summary: Borislava Mikhaylov is a Russian ballerina dancing in the Bolshoi Ballet as a first soloist, trained by the company’s former prima ballerina herself Borislava is trying to deal with the corrupt ballet world as well as struggling to come to terms with her homosexuality and her feelings for a certain Russian figure-skater. Lila Baranovskaya had found Borislava Mikhaylov on a street corner in Saint Petersburg dancing for money and whisked her off with the promise of greatness and wealth. Borislava had been happy then, using the money to help pull her family back from the edge of homelessness but now? Well, Borislava now described her life as getting on a train, thinking it a short cut, and completely missing your stop.“Of course, I hate ballet, but I dance anyway and since I dance, I will be better than everyone else who dances.”





	1. BALLET D'ACTION

     “To have her here in bed with me, breathing on me, her hair in my mouth—I count that something of a miracle.”  

_\- Henry Miller_

 

     “My ambition is handicapped by laziness.”  

_\- Charles Bukowski_

 

     “I wanted the whole world or nothing.”  

_\- Charles Bukowski_

* * *

"Are you sure she's the famous ballerina you told me about?" Yuuri asked.

"Yes," Viktor frowned, "why do you ask?"

Yuuri thought back to the younger woman from just before and her large, suspiciously smelling clothing, the bags under her eyes and her impossible knotty dark hair which seemed to be starting to grey slightly and wondered if Viktor was playing an elaborate prank on him.

 


	2. There Is Magic In The World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My character refers to her homosexuality as a mental illness in this chapter, which may trigger some of you xx My character suffers a great deal from internalised homophobia and her thoughts are some of the ones I had when I suffered from the same thing and a lot of the things she says and does to try and "cure" herself are things I have done in the past.  
> Russia is an infamously homophobic country and I will touch on that and how it shapes many of the characters. If homophobic language and the mention of internalised homophobia triggers you then please be careful xx

_Gay_ was a hard word to say, and an even harder thing to feel. It was gross, truly, as petulant as that sounded. It was never supposed to ail her, this sickness, Borislava had never thought she'd done anything to anger her God to deserve this. This sickness. It wasn't a cold sort of sickness, or a stomach or an ache sort of sickness, it was a mental sickness, one Borislava couldn't seem to shake. Perhaps she wasn't trying hard enough. She'd always been naturally lazy and underachieving, maybe it was a side-affect of the illness. Or maybe it was just her, another mistake she couldn't shake.

"Ow," Borislava groaned while running her hand over the arch of her right foot, blood stained her flats and stuck to the pads of her fingers.

"Don't complain!" Lila Baranovskaya said in the way she always said things to Borislava, which was sharp and unforgiving. Borislava was sure her coach could turn people into stone with a single look. She wasn't meant for the mortal gaze, maybe only Gods and Kings could look her in the eye. Borislava thought that sounded about right.

"At this rate," Borislava pouted, "I'm going to die before I even start my holiday."

"At this rate," Lila mocked, "You're not going to get a holiday. Now, hold a high arabesque for exactly two minutes."

"At this rate," Borislava repeated, "I'm going to fall flat on my face."

"At this rate," Lila snapped, "You're going to get kicked to the curb. Now, balance!"

A shrill scream echoed throughout the dance studio, bounced off the walls and, from the look on her face, managed to ruin Lila's entire day.

"My phone," Borislava said as if that would suddenly explain everything and right every wrong in the world.

"Do you have to be so crude?" Lila asked unsure if she wanted an answer or not. Her student wasn't exactly the perfect ballerina the media saw her as. They'd worked hard on that persona, she and Borislava.

The phone screamed again.

Perhaps it was the world giving her a choice, maybe God giving her a warning. If it was _her_ calling then Borislava would pick up and ruin every step she'd taken to try and cure herself when her fingers went numb, or when her heart got caught in her throat in the way it always did when talking to Mila Babicheva. Borislava was not a fan of the wonders of the universe much but seeing Mila smile, or just seeing Mila's name pop up on her phone, turned Borislava into a believer, a child that was sure magic still existed in the world.  

 _Viktor Nikiforov_ flashed across the screen.

She should have felt relieved.

"It's Viktor," Borislava said flatly.

Lila waved her hand, "Take a quick break."

Borislava pressed the phone to her ear, "Hey - "

"Have you seen the video that's circling around?" Viktor said in lieu of an actual greeting.

Borislava blinked once, twice, thrice and thought for a moment, "Did you finally release a sex-tape? You know I only said to do that once your career was going to shit."

"Japanese piggy," Viktor elaborated, "he's dancing my routine, or trying to at least."

"If he's so bad, then why do you care?"

"Music," Viktor said and there was an air to his voice, something light and pretty that Borislava hadn't heard before, "There wasn't any music but I heard it anyway, and not because I remembered it from the competition but because I heard it through him."

"No," Borislava snapped, she was holding her phone to her ear with her shoulder as she untied her left ballet flat, she cracked her toes and switch her phone to her hand. "You aren't running off to Japan just so you can get an ego boost from some nobody kid who obviously worships you."

"Kid," Viktor mused, "He's older than you, _kid_. And you're one to talk; ego? You're only dancing because it boosts your ego." Viktor said in the snarky tone he used when people were beginning to see through him. He didn't often use that tone.

"Don't ruin your career because you need an ego boost," Borislava reiterated.

"There was something in his face," Viktor insisted, "Something I never had when I was young, something I still don't have, he's something else entirely. I feel inspired."

"Some nobody skater from Japan inspiring the famous Viktor Nikiforov?" Borislava considered this with amusement. She waved off Lila who was glaring at her, irritation and impatience clear on her face. "Alert the press."

"I think," Viktor said, "I should hang up. I heard it's bad to use phones on a plane."

Borislava blanched, "Plane? What? Where are you?"

"First plane to Japan!" Viktor laughed joyously, completely oblivious to how that could be a bad and/or reckless decision.

"VIKTOR," Borislava yelped into the phone.

"DON'T SCREAM IN MY DANCE STUDIO."

"Oh? It seems your coach is quite heated, I best be going!" Viktor cackled, "Sayōnara!"

The phone gave out another shrill scream.

_Mila Babicheva_

There was magic in the world, and it looked an awful lot like Mila's smile.

"Faggot," Borislava whispered to herself, "Disgusting, unnatural. You stupid, stupid little girl."

"If you want to make lead soloist by next year," Lila said in a screeching sort of tone, "then I suggest you get up and practice until you cry, train until your muscles ache and your feet feel like they will bleed off. The only way to greatness is pain. You die a few times before you can live and thrive."

Borislava wondered if that applied to people like her, if she could thrive and achieve greatness. Borislava wasn't sure she wanted greatness. A bed and a week long sleep sounded just fine.

But she got up anyway.

There was no point in making a show of arguing, Lila knew with a certainty stronger than all else that Borislava would never let her down. From the moment she saw that little girl on the side of the road, Lila knew there was greatness swimming in the dark pools of those hungry eyes.

" _If you do this_ ," Lila had said, " _You will be better than all of them_."

" _I already am_ ," Borislava had said back, " _It's time the world figured that out_."

 

 

 

 


	3. And It Looks An Awful Lot Like you

The first time Borislava had seen Mila Babicheva smile she'd been sixteen, Mila had been fifteen. She smiled like she'd always smiled, like God himself picked apart a piece of his own heart to put together the curve of her lips. The first thing Borislava had thought was; " _I wonder how they taste, I wonder how the work of God would feel against my mouth_ ". 

"Mila," She'd introduced.

"Borislava, uh, Mikhaylov," Was the stuttered reply.

Mila's hand had felt warm in Borislava's and it was the first time Borislava had wanted to hold onto something that wasn't money. It turned Borislava's life upside down and she'd been off balance ever since.

"I saw that," Viktor had murmured to her, he'd been twenty-three then and there wasn't any room in his heart for anyone else but him.  

"Saw what?" Borislava had asked because she didn't really know, she didn't know how to know.

Viktor looked at her with his sharp eyes, beautiful and shining, and his mouth opened and shut a few times before he shook his head, as if to say that she was too young for this conversation to continue. Borislava had been angry then, but she supposed Viktor had saved her some pain.

Mila was taller than her, Borislava was a small 5'4", only weighing in at 85lbs by the time she was eighteen. When Mila hugged her, Borislava's head rested on her shoulder but she didn't allow Mila to hug her often, lest it make her sickness worse than it was.

"Finally!" Mila sighed through the phone, her voice clear and happy. "It took you long enough to pick up!"

"Yes, well," Borislava tried to remember how to speak, how to string words together to make a sentence; was this a side-affect too? Memory loss? Stupidity? "I've been busy."

"That's what Yuri said but I couldn't stop myself from calling you fifteen times!" Mila laughed, "I guess I'm just annoying like that. You know, I think I was fifteen when you and I met?"

"Maybe," Borislava said as if she didn't know, as if she didn't remember every detail from that day. "I don't really remember."

"I was," Mila decided, "Yeah, back when I had bad skin and horribly thick makeup. God, I was embarrassing!"

Borislava had thought Mila looked beautiful, she wanted to tell her that on that day and she wanted to say it now but she couldn't, there were a thousand reasons why she couldn't.

"It wasn't that bad," She said instead, "I didn't notice."

"How are you?" Mila asked eagerly, "Your coach still working you to the bone?"

"She wants me to make lead soloist next year," Borislava held back a yawn, she was sitting in bed, her phone on speaker so she could wrap her bruised feet. "But I think I might die before that happens."

"We can't be having that," Borislava closed her eyes and could see Mila's pout, "I'll fight that old coach of yours."

Borislava was tired and she was weak and she was sick so she opened her eyes and laid next to the phone, her face inches from it.

"You're going to fight for my honour?"

"Didn't think you had much of that left, quite shocking for a ballerina."

"The audacity." Borislava shut her eyes again, letting Mila's voice be the only one in her head.

"You love it."

She did. Of course, she did. She loved Mila and her red hair which was almost as fiery as her heart, Borislava was surprised Mila's ribcage could hold all that fire.

"You wish." Borislava whispered. This was a dangerous game.

* * *

"You wish."

Mila tightened her grip on her phone and shut her eyes. This was a dangerous game and Borislava wasn't a force to be played with. She was all fire. Mila could get burned. She didn't mind as much as she should have.


	4. Life Is A Dance

"No."

Viktor blinked, "Wait, I didn't even tell you what I wanted you to do - "

"I'm gonna stick with no."

Viktor pouted and leaned back into his chair with crossed arms and watery eyes.

"You know," Borislava mused, "That look could work on a few people but not on me. Flash me those puppy-dog eyes all you want, Viktor, but I'm not doing whatever it is you're trying to get me to do."

"I need your help!" Viktor yelped and jumped up to mewl pathetically into his laptop's webcam.

Back in Moscow, Russia Borislava cringed. Viktor did the pleading, _please help me_ look extremely well. Viktor was beautiful, a sort of beautiful a lot of people weren't and Borislava had spent many years trying to imagine herself kissing Viktor, maybe even falling in love with him. But she couldn't. The way Viktor smiled was different from the way Mila smiled.

Borislava shook her head.

"You alright?" Viktor asked, his eyes looking much like they had all those years ago; _I saw that._ Borislava frowned at the memory.

"If this is about your stupid Japanese pet project then I swear to God - "

"He needs to lose weight before I let him set foot on an ice-rink and well, I've seen the training programs you can put together and - "

"I am not flying to Japan."

Viktor smiled that bright smile of his and Borislava was reminded of how he convinced the entirety of Russia to fall in love with him.

"Fuck."

* * *

"Fuck."

"Rude!" Viktor chastised in mock seriousness, he waved a finger in front of the girl's face and Borislava had half a mind to bit it off.

Borislava adjusted her sunglasses and inspected the Inn behind Viktor, completely ignoring the mousy looking man standing beside him. The man wore a confused expression and Borislava wondered if Viktor being unable to learn a different language and this man's obvious confusion at the Russian tongue created any gaps in communication. Borislava frowned and sighed, choosing now to face the young man.

"You're the disgraced skater Viktor told me about, uh?" Borislava said in perfect Japanese, "Katsuki Yuuri, right?"

Yuuri stuttered and stumbled, his eyes wide and his hands fidgety. Borislava frowned again.

"I'll meet you two at the dance studio," Borislava called to Viktor as she headed into the Inn, "You've got yourself a wimp there."

Viktor let out a breathy laugh, Yuuri had the biggest glass heart of anyone he had ever met and Viktor was sure Borislava could scare some work ethic into him, maybe even scare the weight off him. Something like that probably wasn't impossible for someone like Borislava; the word _impossible_ didn't seem to apply to her at all.

"Are you sure she's the famous ballerina you told me about?" Yuuri asked.

"Yes," Viktor frowned, "why do you ask?"

Yuuri thought back to the younger woman from just before and her large, suspiciously smelling clothing, the bags under her eyes and her impossible knotty dark hair which seemed to be starting to grey slightly and wondered if Viktor was playing an elaborate prank on him.

* * *

"We've been waiting an hour," Minako Okukawa complained sourly, "Where's this _brilliant_ ballerina you promised us?"

"Maybe she fell asleep." Viktor suggested, it wasn't outside the realm of possibility for Borislava to make an appointment and then sleep through it.

"What?" Yuuri squawked indignantly, "You mean she's asleep?"

Viktor shrugged, "She's known to fall asleep when standing so who knows."

"Don't start spreading rumours, Nikiforov," Borislava snapped, English heavy but fluent on her tongue.

Yuuri gulped and his eyes followed the movement of Borislava's arms as she tied her hair into a bun atop her head. She noticed Yuuri's stare and smiled at him, and oh God, wasn't that a threatening sight. Yuuri gulped again.

"You understand English, yes?" Borislava asked rudely, "Or are you as incompetent as Viktor?"

Yuuri nodded; he didn't trust himself not make a fool of himself if he spoke.

"I'm going to dance this once," She said, Russian accent stronger than Viktor's, "If you miss step or if you get distracted and cannot do as a I do by tomorrow night then I will pack up and leave for Moscow. I have little time for Japanese nobody skaters who do not listen."

Borislava sat on the floor in the middle of the room and tipped her head back, she looked every bit as angelic as a ballerina was supposed to be, "Viktor, play music."

And she was beautiful, of course she was beautiful, Yuuri thought, why else would Viktor be so enamoured with her. She danced like it was what she was born to do, like the whole idea of ballet came from her mind, like no-one else could do it but her.

Yuuri felt heavy, he felt unworthy; how could someone like this teach him? How could he have ever thought he'd be anything more than the Japanese nobody skater in Viktor's life.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Viktor didn't even look at him; he probably didn't even notice that more than half the time all Yuuri could do was look at him. "You know, she actually hates ballet."

Minako bristled at that.

"Not that it shows," Viktor continued, "no-one has managed to figure it out. She's pegged as a lead soloist next year, in the Bolshoi ballet. Sometimes I get angry, how can she dance when she hates it so much? But then I watch her, like this, and I am glad she's stays. It would almost be more selfish of her if she were to quit. She dances like dance is all she is meant for. Borislava Mikhaylov is more beautiful than the God she believes in."

"You must really like her..." Yuuri murmured, more to himself than to Viktor but Viktor heard him anyway; of course he did, Yuuri thought, it seemed to him that Viktor now lived to embarrass him.

"Like a sister," Viktor smiled; Yuuri didn't want to look at him, knew he would never stop if he did. Borislava was still dancing, Yuuri felt a rush of awe run through him. "Don't worry, little piggy, Borislava doesn't like me, I don't think she likes any men."

" _I don't think I like any girls,_ " Yuuri had once whispered to Yuuko Nishigori when they were little, it had been just after he first watched Viktor skate and his heart finally felt like a heart, he felt as though he'd been holding his breath for years and was just now breathing clear. Everything started to make sense and in his dreams he was a boy and in his dreams he saw Viktor and in his dreams Viktor saw him.

" _That's alright,_ " Yuuko had whispered back, " _That's okay. Oh, Yuuri, Yuuri, that's okay."_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UaO7bS5Ky6M - This is what Borislava dances in Minako's dance studio, Viktor chose the music because Borislava was lazy and couldn't be bothered but like ? what else is new


	5. And I Hate Life

Mila frowned.

"What's made your face even more ugly?" Yuri asked, his nose screwed up.

Mila's frown deepened.

"Are you even listening to me?"

Mila's fingers flicked down her phone and Yuri scowled.

"Hag? Mila! Are you ignoring me!?"

" _The famous Russian ballerina Borislava Mikhaylov has allegedly travelled to Japan to accompany famous Russian figure-skater Viktor Nikiforov. They reside together in the country at the moment; is there a secret, forbidden love story in the making?_ " Mila read out, her expression matching Yuri's. Her eyebrows were drawn together and her mouth had been set in a thin line.

Yuri blinked.

"Borislava is only nineteen!" Mila yelped out, "and she'd never fall for Viktor! Viktor is - he's - he's hot but he's not - It's all stupid rumours!"

"You seem heated about this," Yuri said and then he snarled, "Viktor can't go off travelling with that boar! He made a promise to train me!"

Mila looked far angrier than Yuri had ever seen her before; he wondered if perhaps Borislava had made a promise to train Mila, just as Viktor made the promise to him.

Yuri wasn't at all fond of Borislava, she was rude and lazy and disdainful of figure-skating and anything that caused her to move. The fact she was a ballerina baffled Yuri. Borislava had trained Yuri once, at the request of Yakov. Yuri had despised her. The feeling had been mutual.

"Borislava is not a boar!" Mila snapped.

Yuri blinked.

Mila flushed red, "I mean, she's - she's a ballerina, they're not typically boar-ish, actually I - not that I - she's quite pretty."

Borislava was small and slight with hair greying and perpetual bags under her eyes, more often than not she smelled of sweat and cheap wine, her feet were mangled from years of ballet and her face seemed to always appear either distant or annoyed.

"Pretty?" Yuri repeated in a questioning tone.

Mila looked vaguely insulted that Yuri didn't appear to think quite the same of Borislava as she did.

"You're not old enough, Yuri," Mila said, an unfamiliar wiseness tinged her voice, "to find someone you think is pretty all the time, no matter what they look like."

* * *

Borislava sneezed.

"Are you getting a cold?" Yuuri asked, genuine worry filling his features.

"No," Borislava snapped, "but you're getting sloppy. At the end of every exercise your limbs become flaccid. You must keep them straight and strong, your veins and bones must be alive with confidence. You bleed weakness and insecurity. You dance well when Viktor is with you, I've noticed that, but Viktor will not always be there. Stop being dependant, it's making me sick."

Yuuri was ashamed at how closely Borislava had been watching him.

"You hate much of yourself," Borislava guessed, "Well, I’d rather stab myself in neck than put on ballet flats but sometime life is not fair, so we do things that we need to instead of things we want. I hate ballet, and figure-skating, I hate all sport. But attention? I love attention, my heart loves attention, tells me every day. We need to find the good things in hate. And we need to find them ourselves."

"Borislava!" Viktor flew into the room, smile cheery and eyes wide, "you look very nice today! And Yuuri! You're training him perfectly!"

"Hey Viktor, can you, like, dial it back?" Borislava pushed Viktor away from her, keeping him at arms length.

Yuuri flushed red the moment Viktor entered the room. Borislava frowned.

"Get out."

Viktor blinked. "Uh?"

"Get. Out."

"Borislava - "

"Viktor," Borislava said again in Russian, "you've entrusted me with your pet project, right? Well, let me do it my way."

Viktor pouted but left the room. Yuuri didn't see the look Viktor had flung his way, but Borislava did. She felt a deep sadness line her stomach.

"Viktor isn't sick."

Yuuri stared at Borislava with wide, horrified eyes. His heart-beat was growing, becoming faster every second. Had he given off some sort of vibe that he'd thought Viktor was sick? Had he offended both Viktor and Borislava somehow?

"I see the way you look at him," Borislava explained and her expression was pained, "and Viktor isn't like that, okay? He can't - he isn't sick. He can't afford to be."

_Sick?_ Yuuri furrowed his eyebrows.

_"She's sad a lot," Viktor said, his eyes suddenly unlike Yuuri remembered them, they looked his age. He was drunk and Yuuri didn't know if Viktor leaning on him wanted to make him die or live forever, "she hides it well, she hides most things well. She thinks she's sick, you see. My father had once told me I was but I think - I don't think Borislava is. She can't be. Things like this, even in our home, can't be bad. I don't think it has to be."_

Yuuri's eyes widened as he continued to stare at the younger girl in front of him. She looked small and young and suddenly Yuuri was twenty-three and Borislava was nineteen and that made all the difference in the world.

_"Don't worry, little piggy, Borislava doesn't like me, I don't think she likes any men."_

"No," Yuuri said softly, "No, you're right. Viktor isn't sick. And neither are you."

Borislava looked stricken.

"You're not sick." Yuuri said again and he thought, for as long as he lived, he'd say it as many times as it'd take to make Borislava believe it because he could have used words like that when he was younger. Truth be told, he could use the words right now. He saying it helped him.

"You don't know what you're talking about." Borislava bit out, she resembled a dog that sensed danger, like she felt she could be attacked at any moment.

"I -" Yuuri took a deep breath, exhaled and let out a shaky smile, he felt his eyes go watery, "I think I love Viktor. And I - there's nothing wrong with that. I'm not sick. I'm good. I'm fine." Yuuri lifted his arms up as to show the girl he wasn't dying on the spot, that God wasn't sending down a punishment to kill him.

"Do it again." Borislava said, she couldn't look at Yuuri, fearing she'd burst into tears if she dared, "the first routine I showed you. Do it again. I'm leaving tomorrow and I refuse to leave Viktor with a fuck-up nobody skater."

And he did. And he was beautiful, of course he was beautiful, Borislava thought, why else would Viktor be so enamoured with him.

"Beautiful."

Borislava did her best not to flinch when Viktor came up behind her, lest he never make her forget it.

"Yeah," Borislava whispered, "beautiful."

She looked up to gaze at Viktor and he looked so real, like she could reach out and touch him and he'd feel solid against her hand. He didn't often look like that. Maybe Yuuri wasn't just a nobody skater and maybe there were some truth to his words.

* * *

"He's good." Minako said.

"He's getting there." Borislava conceded.

Minako scowled.

They sat on the dance studio floor together. Because Borislava had refused to move and Viktor thought Minako was tough enough to make her.

"Viktor told me you hated ballet."

Borislava shrugged, "I hate most things. It's the Russian way."

"You speak pretty good Japanese," Minako sighed, she didn't want to talk about ballet or Russia and she certainly didn't want to be sitting here, next to a girl who had what Minako always wanted and hated it all. It had been her own decision to stop dancing but she missed it, still loved it with all her heart.

"I know many languages," Borislava said, her voice void of all things, "English, Japanese, French, Korean, Chinese, German, Italian, and Spanish. Viktor would like to but his memory is horrid, but I suppose it's one of his quirks."

Minako would have thought Borislava was bragging if she didn't sound so mechanical about it.

"Maybe I'd be smarter," Borislava mused, "If I wasn't so pretty."

Minako groaned and pulled Borislava into a headlock. Screw it, now she was bragging, mechanical tone or not.

"You spoiled bitch," Minako said, "you can be both, you absolute princess!"

"You hate me!" Borislava gasped, "I see it now, you hate me!"

Minako pulled herself off Borislava and crossed her arms, her face set in a scowl.

Borislava spluttered, "Please, don't."

"Uh?"

"Hate me, I mean. Please, don't. Before you even introduced yourself I knew who you were, how could I not? You're Minako Okukawa. When I was younger, first starting out, I saw you dance in Russia. And maybe I hate ballet, but I don't hate you. I - I wish I loved it like you do! I copy you. When Lila tells me to look like I love ballet, I think of you and I - I - "

"Why do you dance?" Minako asked, "you hate it, so why? You're rich, you could quit."

"I made a promise," Borislava said, "I made many promises, to my coach and to my family. I hate ballet, but I dance anyway. I hate all sports, I was never born for much movement. But my name means ‘ _battle glory’_ in Russian, my father named me because he thought I was a fighter. I try to make him proud, sometimes I fail. But still, with all my hate, I dance with my entire heart and why? Go big or go home; beautiful saying, something I always live by. I made this choice, so now I have to live with the reality of it. I dance and I will not complain. And since I dance, I will be better than everyone else who dances."

Silence settled between the pair.

"So," Minako said after quite some time, "you admire me, uh?"

_You're not sick._

Borislava smiled. "I thought you were very pretty."

* * *

"I can carry some of your bags for you, if you'd like." Yuuri told her as they head to the car outside, "we can all go to the airport together."

"As lovely and as camp as that sounds," Borislava sniffed, "No."

Yuuri deflated.

"We will see you when Yuuri makes it to Russia!" Viktor promised. Minako happily agreed.

"Yuuri," Borislava called, "actually, can you come help me put this suitcase in the back of the car."

Yuuri scurried to do just that. As he was lifting the case into the boot and inspecting it's place there, Borislava shoved her phone in his face. A picture was opened on the screen of a young girl Yuuri had seen before. Mila Babicheva. At only eighteen she was ranked third in the internationals Ladies' Singles figure-skating. Yuuri had seen some of her performances and she was beautiful. He looked up and Borislava's eyes were wet.

"Oh," Yuuri murmured gently, realisation dawning on him, "Oh."

"He likes you," Borislava slowly pulled her phone away and held it to her chest, "Viktor, I mean. Viktor doesn't care often, he was never taught how, but he cares for you. Maybe you'll be good for each other."

"Borislava - "

"You're good, Yuuri, really good. I can see why you inspire him. I don't think he's made a mistake. And I don't think he's sick, either. I think he's good. He's fine."

Yuuri began to cry. And he began to smile. Borislava wasn't aware people could do those two things at once. Yuuri closed the boot of the car and threw his arms around Borislava, because there were many moments when he needed the same thing and he was happy, he had managed to make something right and Borislava's words made his heart swell, if a heart could swell. Borislava spluttered and yelped, eventually knocking Yuuri back with a head-butt and jumping into the car, slapping the driver's head rest as a signal to _move_. Yuuri laughed and stood back, slightly dizzy.

"Don’t waste his time!" Borislava called out from the moving car, "If you want to eat and stop now, forever, then do but commit to it! Don’t regret it and don’t come back, stop complaining if this is the life you choose. Have some pride!"

_Thank you_ , she didn't say.

But Yuuri heard it anyway.

* * *

Mila frowned.

"What's made your face even more ugly?" Yuri asked, his nose screwed up.

Mila's frown deepened.

"Are you even listening to me?"

Mila's fingers flicked down her phone and Yuri scowled.

"Hag? Mila! Are you ignoring me!?"

" _Famous Russian ballerina rumoured to be in forbidden affair with loved Russian figure-skater Viktor Nikiforov spotted at Moscow airport. Is love affair over?! Whose heart has been left broken? Find out on page thirty-five where we have an insider scoop_." Mila glowered clutching her phone.

"Now I can go to Japan without that boar bothering me. I just have to get past that fat Japanese pig to take Viktor home."

Mila didn't comment. She only stared at her phone, as if waiting for it to do something.

"Why are you so Goddamn distracted?!" Yuri screeched, he pulled at his hair in frustration.

"Maybe," Mila said, an unfamiliar wiseness tinged her voice, "when you find someone you care about, then you'll know how easily getting distracted is."

Yuri was beginning to think that this was more than just Borislava promising to train Mila.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry at how shit this chapter is! please comment, give me some feedback x


	6. If You Think Today Is Hard

Viktor had changed. And he had been changing since the Grand Pix Final last year. Borislava had stayed the same. Maybe, at first, she had enjoyed the dancing, the flying above everyone, the being better than everyone but she grew older and happiness seemed harder to catch, harder to hold onto. She'd fallen, fell off her pedestal, and hadn't been able to get back up. She was only nineteen and she already wanted to the world to tear apart, to fracture, to destroy itself. The world was a nuisance and so was the sickness that struck Borislava. If she had a choice, she'd hold a boy's hand and let him crawl inside her body, kiss him until her mouth was sore but Borislava didn't have a choice - or, that was what Yuuri had been telling her in the countless text messages he had sent Borislava since her departure from Japan. Borislava's mother had once told her that _God doesn't make mistakes_. Perhaps, that was true. Perhaps, maybe, possibly, this wasn't as much as a sickness as it was a birthmark, something Borislava had been born with and would grown into, some would think it gross while others might think it special. Either way, Borislava would have to live with it and any attempt to remove it would hurt.

Borislava smiled slightly.

"Why are you suddenly so happy?" Lila asked, voice accusing.

Borislava shrugged.

Lila scowled.

"Your place is a mess."

Borislava supposed it was, but also supposed that Lila was a clean-freak and anything less than perfect was a _mess_ in her narrowed, judgmental eyes.

"Why aren't you packed yet?" Lila snapped. "We leave for Yakov's ice-rink in an hour!"

"I am!" Borislava jumped up and waved a small suitcase in front of Lila's face, "I don't have much!"

"What do you even have in there?" Lila questioned, already regretting her decision to take an active interest in her student's life.

"My porn and my vibrator - "

"Forget I asked." Lila deadpanned, "by the way, make sure you close your door in the car or I might throw you out into moving traffic."

"I'm only joking! Wait, Lila, you aren't serious, are you? I WAS JOKING, COME BACK."

* * *

Borislava stood beside Lila, her back straight and her face sharp. The two of them, former and future prima ballerinas, were almost like a two-headed monster. It was Borislava _and_ Lila, or Lila _and_ Borislava, they were a conjunction, a fierce team, the living personification of _and_. 

"Why the hell is _she_ here?!" Yuri squawked.

"Hey, I can leave, if you want," Borislava's shoulders fell and her eyes got heavy, she looked as though she could fall asleep standing if she so wanted to, "but, I mean, you'd lose. So, it's your choice."

Mila smiled. Borislava looked every bit as lazy and as beautiful as she knew her to be. What an odd, fearless creature, Mila thought, like something out of a book about pretty girls and the hearts they broke.

Yuri glowered but didn't say anything else.

Lila looked him over with a hard stare. "You have good teeth and a nice face, but you aren't flexible. At all."

"Japanese Yuuri is flexible," Borislava added with an innocent smile, "he's actually spent years training in ballet, but you? You don't know shit. But you will. After this program. Hey! If you're lucky you might even win bronze in the Grand Pix Final - of course, Yuuri and JJ will win gold and silver."

"SHUT UP AND TEACH ME." Yuri flailed his arms and Lila looked on unimpressed. "THERE'S NO-WAY I'LL LOSE TO THAT FAT JAPANESE PIG AND FUCKING _JJ_."

Borislava laughed and sent Lila a thumbs-up. Lila still looked unimpressed. Mila wondered if Lila was actually unimpressed or if her face just appeared that way naturally.

 "Good," Lila nodded, "let's begin."

* * *

"I was wondering when you'd show." Mila's smile was slow and hesitant.

"Well," Borislava mumbled, "Yuri looked as though he needed a push."

Mila managed to be soft without being weak. Borislava could never be like her.

"You quit last time," Mila remembered with a small giggle, "because he was a brat. Has he really changed, do you think?"

"People can change." Borislava said.

Mila blink.

Borislava couldn't look at her.

"Well, yes," Mila said, "I think you're right."

"BORISLAVA," Lila's shrill voice called, snapping Mila and Borislava out of the small world they had created around themselves, "IF YOU WERE TO STOP BEING YOURSELF AND HELP ME FOR ONCE, THEN I WOULD BE VERY THANKFUL."

"IF YOU KEEP YELLING AT ME," Borislava called out, "YOU MIGHT LOSE YOUR VOICE AS WELL AS YOUR HAIR."

Mila spluttered out a laugh, and _God_ , Borislava wanted to bottle up that laugh so she could take it out on the days she needed to remind herself what beauty sounded like. There would be bad days where she needed to hear that laugh when Yuuri's kind words were not enough.

"I'll let you go," Mila said, "I'll see you after you deal with the _Terrible Two_?"

 Borislava nodded. She couldn't find her voice.

Mila began to walk away and Borislava felt very _Yuuri-like_ when she made a spluttering, gurgling type of noise and then shouted for Mila to stop.

Mila blinked at her.

"You know," Borislava began, face and neck flushed a deep, very _Yuuri-like_ red, "when we - when I - when you were fifteen and we met for the first time, I - I didn't - your makeup wasn't thick and your skin wasn't bad skin at all! I thought you looked very pretty. I think you're still, uh, very pretty. I just, I forgot to say so before. Bye. So, I'll let you go. Now. Bye."

Borislava quickly spun on her heel and marched towards Yuri, sending a hand out to smack the side of his head when he gaped at her. Lila had a strange, unfamiliar expression plastered across her features. Borislava pulled Yuri away from the balancing bar, hitting him into Lila, and began to pull his body into a second arabesque, shouting out incoherent instructions and flushing a red that Yuri seemed to deem demonic and concerning, if his angry and panicked screeching was anything to go by.

Borislava had changed. And she had been changing since she got back from Japan. Mila had stayed the same. Well, in some aspects at least. The important ones. The ones Mila didn't want to change. The ones she couldn't bare to change. The ones she didn't need to change.

Mila giggled, her face and neck flushing a deep _Yuuri-like_ red. Borislava, stumbling and stuttering and blushing over her. Yeah, Mila could get used to that.

 


	7. Just Wait Until Tomorrow

Viktor raised an eyebrow at Yuuri, watching him text with a small frustrated expression.

"Whose gotten your attention so badly?" He asked.

Yuuri flinched at the sudden break in silence and fumbled with his phone while trying to turn around to give Viktor a dazed smile, "Just Borislava." He said.

"Borislava?" Viktor blinked, "is she okay?"

Yuuri, who found himself unable to lie under Viktor's quiet gaze, shrugged, "I don't know."

Viktor held his hand out and looked at Yuuri expectantly. He wiggled his fingers when Yuuri only tilted his head at him. Soon, with a great deal of gentleness, Yuuri placed his phone into Viktor's waiting palm. Viktor flipped through the messages with a judgmental eye. Yuuri flushed.

"She seems - happy?" Viktor mumbled, more talking to himself than to Yuuri, "maybe? Or, well, as close to happiness as Borislava can get..."

It was such a sad thing, Viktor thought, how tragedy looked so good on Borislava.

"I understand what she's going through," Yuuri said quietly, "a little bit of it, at least."

Viktor smiled, "yes, I believe you do."

Viktor turned the phone off and handed it back to Yuuri.

"Russia," Viktor tried to say but faltered, unable to find the words in his throat, they didn't fit in his mouth, they didn't seem right in any language. He took a deep intake of air and tried again. "Is difficult. For people like - well, people like Borislava and I. It's a different type of life. In the world, sure, but in Russia - much, much more difficult." Viktor alternated between Russian and Japanese, leaving Yuuri wondering if the man knew he was doing so. It was nice, Yuuri thought, hearing Viktor being human.

"I think I know what you mean," Yuuri said, "It's, it's hard for me too."

"We're called mentally ill," Viktor thought of Borislava and her tears, his own tears, and he wanted to rip his life apart, wanted to start again, remake the world. "by law."

"I told Borislava that she was fine and okay and that she couldn't change what she was, because what she is, well, it's in her heart. Law can't change that."

"Thank you, Yuuri."

Yuuri blinked, "I didn't really do anything. I just told the truth."

"I know. Thank you."

It took Yuuri probably far too long to realise Viktor was crying. He'd thought angels were so rarely humans that he'd forgotten Viktor was just a man who could cry when he wanted to. 

"Did you know," Viktor sniffed, "my father used to say the exact opposite. He used to - God, Yuuri, thank you."

Yuuri didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything at all. He only met Viktor half-way. And pulled the man into his lap, letting his fingers slide through his silver hair. Who has he ever had to love him, Yuuri asked himself, certainly not his parents. Yuuri, who liked to believe he didn't hate anyone, now wanted very much to hit Viktor's father. Was it hate or love that made him want to do such a thing? Maybe both.

 _I love you_ , Yuuri wanted to say but it came out as, "It's okay."

 _I love you too_ , Viktor wanted to say but it came out as, "Thank you."

**Author's Note:**

> Idk why I'm writing this but I love lesbians in everything and I thought "this show needs some gay girls" so here we go


End file.
